A Common Bond
by Catmint
Summary: Draco Malfoy's world is abruptly turned upside down in the most devastating way possible. However, he finds an unlikely source of support. Now complete. Please read and review.
1. Shock

A Common Bond

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Disclaimer: not mine. Really. All I own is the Chamber of Secrets soundtrack on CD. And the LOTR soundtracks. And the PotC one. And assorted other things. So really, don't sue.

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A/N: this is a Draco/Neville friendship, set just before sixth year. And Blaise Zabini is a girl here. And yes, Vector is female. Someone in PoA (I think Ron, but don't quote me on that) refers to Vector as "that Arithmancy witch.

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A/N 2: "the Tube" is another name for the London Underground, for those of you who aren't familiar with it. I know JKR usually calls it the Underground, but I live just outside London and am on the Underground network, and we usually call it the Tube.

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Chapter 1: Shock

It had all started to go wrong, sixteen-year-old Draco Malfoy reflected bitterly as he trudged through Diagon Alley, partway through the last school year, when his aunt Bellatrix Lestrange had escaped from Azkaban. That the woman was mentally unstable – completely insane, even – was unquestionable. If she hadn't escaped from Azkaban, Draco wouldn't be making this journey.

"Do be careful where you're going!"

Draco, lost in his thoughts, hadn't seen the figure approaching (not that they'd been looking where _they_ were going, either) until the exclamation. He snapped his head up. "Oh. Sorry. Didn't see you."

"_That_ is rather obvious, Mr. Malfoy." The witch – who also happened to be his Arithmancy teacher, Professor Vector – glared at him momentarily, before allowing her face to soften. "Have you got your OWL results yet? They changed the issuing date three years after I left school."

Draco nodded. "I got an O for Arithmancy, so I'll be taking it for one of my NEWT subjects," he informed her.

"Good good. No less than I expected." Vector gave him one of her rare smiles. "You and Hermione Granger are my two best students."

"Thanks," Draco muttered. "Sorry for bumping into you. I – I have to be somewhere. Excuse me." He hurried off to The Leaky Cauldron before she could say anything else or inquire further as to the reason for his hasty departure.

He didn't stop in the pub, though, instead passing through it and out into Muggle London (somewhere that, as a rule, he avoided unless absolutely necessary). He paused to consult a roughly-drawn map before returning it to his pocket and hurrying along the street, ignoring the rest of the people that crowded the pavement – just like they ignored everyone else around them – until he arrived at his destination. He checked the instructions again, suddenly anxious; he was not used to Muggle public transport and was, quite frankly, apprehensive at the prospect of travelling by Underground.

He knew how to use it – his other aunt, Andromeda, had taken him on it several times when he had been younger, "just in case". His father remained blissfully ignorant as to that fact, and, as far as Draco was concerned, what he didn't know couldn't hurt him. Changing his money hadn't been a problem; he'd done that at Gringott's.

The Tube platform, when he arrived on it, was quite busy and Draco, ever observant, eyed the other people there with interest. The couple that caught his attention most of all were kissing passionately – too passionately for public standards, in Draco's opinion. The man's hair was almost elbow-length, pulled back into a straggly ponytail and bright pink with purple streaks in it. He wore black from head to metal-toe-capped boots. The girl had chin-length, bright blue hair with pink streaks in, and was extremely scantily-clad. Draco, in blue jeans, trainers and a green T-shirt, felt extremely ordinary and Mugglish (if such a word existed – and if it hadn't, he'd just invented it and could claim fame for doing so). For once, though, he was glad to go unnoticed.

The journey, when the train came, didn't take long and Draco was glad to leave the still-kissing couple behind him when he got off. It was only a short walk to his final destination – a 'large, old-fashioned, red-brick department store called Purge and Dowse Ltd'_ (OotP, p426-7)_. He stood in front of the dummy modelling a green nylon pinafore dress. "I'm here to see Narcissa Malfoy," he muttered.

The dummy nodded and beckoned to him with its finger, and Draco stepped through the glass into the main reception of St. Mungo's Hospital. Barely able to keep from shaking, Draco walked up to the welcomewitch's desk.

"Yes?" she said briskly.

Draco took a deep breath. "I – I'm here to see Narcissa Malfoy."

"And you are?"

"Her – her son. Can you tell me what's wrong –?"

"Fourth floor. Spell Damage." She paused and something – sympathy? pity? – flickered in her eyes. "Closed Ward."

Draco stared at her in stunned disbelief. "W-_which_ ward?"

"Closed Ward. I'm sorry. Move along now; there are others waiting. Stephan, are those shoes _still_ giving you trouble?"

Numbly, Draco stumbled to one side and sank down into an empty seat, head in his hands and entire body trembling violently. He knew what the words _Closed Ward_ meant.

Someone in lime-green robes entered his (currently rather limited) line of vision and crouched down in front of him. "Can I help you at all?"

Draco looked up at her. "I – I don't know. Who are you?"

"Heather Abbott. You might know my daughter Hannah – you look about her age."

Draco blinked slowly as his overloaded brain processed this information. "Yeah. Yeah, I do. My year. Hufflepuff. Good at Potions."

Heather smiled proudly and nodded. "Now, are you here for treatment or to see someone?"

"My – my mother. Narcissa Malfoy," Draco whispered, his voice shaking as much as his hands as he searched her face with his eyes. Draco was skilled at reading other people for the slightest scrap of information that they might unwittingly be giving him.

"Oh. I see." Heather's face clouded over. "I can help you there. What _do_ you know?"

Draco hesitated, composing himself as best he could. "The welcomewitch – she said where…"

Heather nodded understandingly. "Come with me; I work there. Do you know what happened to your mother?"

Draco shook his head. He allowed Heather to help him to his feet and he followed her as she walked off, feeling as though he were in a dream where nothing seemed quite real.

"Your mother was held under the Cruciatus Curse for a long time," Heather told him gently as they made their way up the stairs. "She was unconscious when they found her, which was yesterday afternoon."

"I was still at Blaise's then," said Draco, more to himself than to Heather. Blaise Zabini, the prettiest girl in Slytherin, was Draco's best friend. The relationship between the two was strictly platonic; Blaise was interested in Anthony Goldstein of Ravenclaw, and made her suspicions that Draco liked Hannah Abbott, perfectly clear.

"She regained consciousness soon after they brought her in – 'they' being the Aurors. However –" here Heather paused, "– we believe the damage done to be permanent." They reached the fourth floor and Heather led Draco to the door of the Closed Ward. She stopped and faced him sombrely. "I must warn you, Draco. She cannot speak properly or coherently; nor, we think, can she make sense of anything. The effects are irreversible; she will never improve. It is extremely unlikely that she will recognise you."

Draco stared at her in horror.

"I'm sorry, Draco; truly I am. We've done all we can, but to no avail. Do you want a bit of time to yourself before you see her, to take everything in?"

He shook his head firmly. "No. I want to see her. Please."

Okay." Heather led him in and took him to a bed at the end of the ward. The curtains were drawn around the two opposite beds, but Draco paid no attention to that fact. Instead, his gaze was fixed upon his mother.

Narcissa Malfoy was almost unrecognisable now. Clad in a pale pink standard-issue St. Mungo's gown, she lay mumbling incoherently to herself, head on one side and hands moving pointlessly in her lap. Her face was devoid of any colour and showed evidence of great torment, and her previously well-kept, beautiful blonde hair was roughly tied up into two plaits. Draco was unable to speak, so shocked and horror-struck was he at the sight of his mother.

Heather gently guided him to a chair beside his mother's bed and helped him sit down. He accepted her assistance gratefully, feeling sure that he was unable to do it himself at this moment in time. "Do – do they know who – who did this?" he asked, his voice cracking.

Heather bowed her head. "It was her sister. Bellatrix Lestrange. She got away. I'm very sorry, Draco."

"Not your fault," Draco mumbled. He shakily reached out and tried to take one of his mother's hands in his. However, she jerked away from him and the muttering swiftly rose to an agony-laden, torment-filled wail that immediately brought three Healers to her side. Draco could only sit and stare in horror, disbelief and anguish. His mother, tortured to insanity by her own sister, was unable to recognise, and could not bear the touch of, her own son.

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~TBC~

A/N: I'm an incurable Draco/Hannah shipper. Hence the mention of Draco's possible interest; I write Blaise Zabini as both male and female, depending on which goes better with the individual fic, as JKR's never specified.


	2. Introducing Neville

A Common Bond

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Disclaimer: not mine. Really. All I own is the Chamber of Secrets soundtrack on CD. And the LOTR soundtracks. And the PotC one. And assorted other things. So really, don't sue.

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A/N: this was originally going to be a one-shot – but then it kinda got a bit too long!!

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Thanks to: lucidity, Lord Elrond of Hogwarts, CatClawz (very cool name! I like cats too!) and my first reviewer, MagickalStar135 *beams* Chocolate for you all!!!

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Chapter 2: Introducing Neville

One of the Healers injected Narcissa with some kind of sedative, and within a minute she had fallen into an induced sleep. Heather placed one hand on Draco's arm. "Perhaps you need a cup of tea," she suggested kindly.

Draco nodded dully, his mind whirling. He dazedly got to his feet just as the curtain around the opposite two beds was drawn back and two figures emerged – an older witch with a fox fur around her neck and a stuffed vulture on her hat, and a round-faced teenage boy of Draco's age.

"Longbottom? What are you doing here?" asked Draco in surprise.

Neville Longbottom jumped, met the other boy's gaze briefly and then shrugged. "I wouldn't really say that it's your business, Malfoy."

Draco caught a glimpse of the two patients in the beds behind Neville. "Are – are they your parents?"

"So what if they are?" Neville challenged.

"What – what happened? I had no idea…"

"Cruciatus Curse. Tortured to insanity, if you must know."

"By whom?"

"Your aunt Bellatrix."

Draco stumbled, mind reeling and blood suddenly coursing with violent hatred for this woman.

"Why are _you _here?" asked Neville.

Draco struggled to regain his composure. "My – my mother," he admitted almost inaudibly. He smiled slightly, half sadly, half sardonically. "Bellatrix Lestrange. Same method as on your parents. It'll be in the _Prophet_ tomorrow, I should imagine, and then you and your little Gryffindor pals can laugh all you like."

"I won't say anything. Promise. If you don't, that is."

"Fine," replied Draco dully.

"Where will you live?" Your father's in Azkaban now, and he won't be getting out for a long time yet."

"With Aunt Andromeda, I expect. She's my closest living relative."

"Oh. Look, do – do you want to go for a cup of tea or something?" offered Neville awkwardly.

"Why would _you_ want to go for a cup of tea with _me_?" asked Draco incredulously.

"We could…oh, I dunno…talk, maybe?"

Draco shrugged. "Don't s'pose it'd hurt much. I rather doubt I've got much of a reputation left now, thanks to my unhinged aunt."

Neville turned to the woman he was with – his grandmother. "Gran, I'll see you at home, OK?"

Mrs. Longbottom eyed Draco suspiciously. "Aren't you that Malfoy boy?" she demanded, her dislike and distrust perfectly apparent in both her tone of voice and her stance.

"Gran, that's his mum in the bed opposite!" Neville hissed.

Draco shrugged. "It's not your fault that my aunt's both insane and a complete bitch, Mrs. Longbottom."

"Hmmm." Neville's grandmother clearly wasn't at all convinced. Neville grabbed Draco's arm and began tugging him very firmly down the ward. "See you at home, Gran."

When the door of the Closed Ward shut behind them, Draco pulled free of the Gryffindor's grasp. "Hands off, Longbottom. Only Blaise Zabini gets to haul me anywhere."

"The tearoom's on the top floor," Neville informed him with the air of one who knew the place like the back of their hand. "Come on."

In silence, Draco followed. Neither he nor Neville spoke until they reached their destination. Neville pushed open the door. "Here we are. What do you want to drink?"

Draco shrugged dully, the numbness once again taking over. "Whatever."

Neville went up to the counter. "Two pots of tea, please."

The girl behind the counter smiled brightly. "Anything else?"

"Two jam doughnuts. We need them."

"On their way. Five minutes. Do take a seat."

Neville guided Draco to an empty table and the two sat down. The silence between them was awkward and Neville was relieved when the waitress appeared with the order and he paid. "So," he stated, pouring his tea.

"So?" Draco blinked at him.

"I'd ask if you were okay, but that's kind of a stupid question."

"Hmmm? Oh. Yeah. I s'pose."

"You know, staring at the teapot won't make it pour, even in the wizarding world," remarked Neville in a gently teasing voice.

"What? Oh. Right. No, I don't s'pose it will." Slowly, Draco reached out for the teapot, lifted it, moved it to just above the cup and poured. "You seem different from usual, Longbottom," he commented.

"Call me Neville; it's shorter."

"Oh. Okay."

"You don't really know me, Malfoy. But I suppose you're right…How am I different?"

"More mature. Less clumsy."

Neville smiled wryly. "True."

Draco hesitated. "How – how long have your parents…you know?"

Neville's face darkened. "Most of my life. I don't remember them the way they were before. I – I was here when they brought your mum in."

His words caused Draco to flinch and draw back as though he had been stung. It was almost impossible for him to form his next sentence. "What – what was she like?" he whispered, almost not wanting to hear the response.

Neville swallowed hard as he recalled the scene. "She – she was crying. Screaming. Fighting everyone. She was talking, but it was nonsense; just sounds. Babble, if you will. Didn't seem to know anything about herself, where she was…anything. They had to sedate her pretty heavily. They had to restrain her and she fought hard against the restraints. It was pretty scary." He paused. "I'm sorry, Malfoy. Really I am."

Draco nodded vaguely, only half-hearing the last words. He was thinking, imagining the scene as Neville had described it. His mother, yet not his mother. Death would have been far kinder. Why had she been denied it?

He suddenly became aware of a tissue being held out to him, and he realised with a start that he was crying. "Thanks," he mumbled, accepting it.

"What's happening with your father?" asked Neville carefully, knowing that he was approaching a very delicate topic.

"Multiple life sentences, I should imagine," Draco answered bleakly, staring into his untouched steaming tea. At least with his mother around, he'd been able to lead some sort of reasonably normal life. Now, though, it was likely that the Ministry of Magic would decide his fate – even though he was sixteen, he was still on the Hogwarts register, and that meant that decisions about things such as living arrangements were out of his control. And he wasn't looking forward to it.

He looked up at Neville again. "How do you feel? About my aunt, I mean."

Neville shrugged. "Dunno. I used to be angry, but at the same time glad, because she was securely locked away in Azkaban. Now, though…I'm angry with the Ministry – or more accurately, with Fudge – because of the Azkaban breakout. As for Bellatrix Lestrange…I don't know. I honestly don't." He was silent for a moment. "You?"

Draco sighed. "I don't feel much of anything right now. It still doesn't seem quite real yet. You know?"

"Yeah."

"Do – do you ever get used to it?"

"Used to what?"

"Your parents being like that."

Neville shrugged. "I don't know. I don't remember them the way they were. To me, they've always been like that. I don't have anything to compare it with. I think it's probably worse for you, because you've got to get used to something massively different."

"But at least I've had the good times," Draco pointed out.

"True," Neville conceded. "But I think that probably makes it harder, because you'll be longing for the good times, the way things _were_, and it's harder to accept that you'll never have those times again." He took a bite of his doughnut, noticing how Draco's hands shook as he picked up his cup, nearly spilling the tea. "You mentioned your other aunt?"

Draco looked up, startled. He'd forgotten about Neville, having been completely lost in his own thoughts. "Andromeda. Yeah. If she'll have me. I wouldn't blame her if she didn't, though. Who in their right mind would want to look after an evil kid of one of the most notorious Death Eaters around? Mind you, my cousin – her daughter – maintains that she can't be in her right mind because she got stuck with the horrendous name of Nymphadora." He put his cup down before he dropped it, so badly were his hands shaking. "Ouch!"

"Are you okay?"

"Spilled tea on my hand."

"Ah." Silence fell as the two munched their doughnuts – though in truth Draco did no more than nibble his. Instead they listened to the conversations going on around them. Neville couldn't help smiling at some of the tales that were being recounted in the tearoom.

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~TBC~


	3. Enter Andromeda

A Common Bond

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Disclaimer: not mine. Really. All I own is the Chamber of Secrets soundtrack on CD. And the LOTR soundtracks. And the PotC one. And assorted other things. So really, don't sue.

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A/N: this chapter's a bit longer than the previous two – I needed to find an appropriate place to stop!!

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Thanks to: lucidity, Lord Elrond of Hogwarts, SnapeAngst

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Chapter 3: Enter Andromeda

"What will you do for the rest of the day?" inquired Neville, eventually breaking the silence.

Draco shrugged. "No idea. Mother's been…sedated," (here he flinched), "so I might go – oh. Oh no. I can't…"

"You can't what?" asked Neville carefully.

Draco swallowed hard, fighting back tears. "I – I can't go home," he whispered. "There's nobody there."

Neville awkwardly reached out to comfort him, but the Slytherin drew back. If anyone touched him now, he'd fall apart, be unable to stop the tears from spilling over and pouring down his cheeks. Once he started, he wouldn't be able to stop. Neville seemed to understand, and withdrew his arm. Draco gave him a small smile of thanks.

"How did you do on your OWLs?" asked Neville, searching for a topic they could discuss safely.

"O in Potions, Herbology, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Arithmancy and Charms. E in Transfiguration, Ancient Runes and History of Magic. I got an A in Care of Magical Creatures, but that was probably only just scraped."

"Wow! That's really good!" Neville exclaimed, impressed.

"How about you?"

"O in Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures. E in Charms, Muggle Studies, Transfiguration and Defence Against the Dark Arts. A in History of Magic and Potions, and P in Divination – which I'm really not bothered about at all. I wasn't going to take it for NEWTs, anyway."

"Why did you even take Divination?" asked Draco.

Neville shrugged, a wry smile on his face. "Easy option – that was my reasoning at the end of second year when we had to choose."

"Madness, I'd say," Draco muttered.

"Quite possibly."

Silence fell once more. Neville took Draco's doughnut, which the other boy had pushed towards him, and thoughtfully began munching it. Neither paid any attention to the tall, dark-haired witch standing beside them until she cleared her throat. Loudly.

Neville dropped the doughnut. Draco spilled his tea again. "Aunt – Aunt Andromeda," he stammered.

"I was told you were up here by the ward staff. Can I join you?" Without waiting for an answer, Andromeda Tonks (née Black) took a chair from a nearby table and sat down on it. "How are you, Draco?"

Draco glared at her. "How do you _think _I feel?!" he snapped. "My father's in Azkaban, my mother's worse than dead, and I have nowhere to live!"

"Yes you do," replied Andromeda calmly. "You'll be staying with me. I offered. I couldn't have the relevant Ministry officials dumping you with any old wizarding family, now, could I? You're my nephew. We look after our own in our family."

"Someone must have neglected to tell Bellatrix that," Draco said angrily.

Andromeda's face twisted into a scornful expression. "She was always off her rocker, if you ask me. And I'm her sister, so I should know. She and your mother got on reasonably well, although Bellatrix had a rather unpleasant habit of smuggling wasps and other unpleasant insects into 'Cissa's room when she was small."

Draco bit his lip at the mention of his mother. "No wonder she panics – panick_ed_ – whenever a wasp came into a room she was in."

"Oh, 'Cissa got her own back when she was older – moths. Bellatrix despises them. It was generally advisable to avoid their rooms altogether." Andromeda rolled her eyes at the memories. "Now, young Draco. We need to get your things and take them to my house, if you're going to be living with me." She stood up and put the chair back where it had come from.

Draco also rose, and gave Neville an awkward half-smile. "Look, Longbottom…Thanks. For – for the tea. And everything."

Neville shrugged uncomfortably. "'S OK. I won't say anything to anyone. Write to me if you want. I'm always here if you want to talk to anyone about…you know."

Draco nodded briefly. "Thanks. See you." He turned and followed his aunt as she left the tearoom, mind whirling with all that had happened that day.

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It was about eight o'clock that evening by the time all of Draco's necessary (and wanted) items had been moved to his aunt's house in Bedfordshire. They used the Floo network, as Draco was too young to Apparate. His room was reasonably sized, though somewhat smaller than his one at the manor, and it was situated at the back of the detached house. Because his Uncle Ted was Muggle-born, there were a lot of Muggle contraptions in the house, all of which were completely alien to the pureblood teenager. As such, he was startled when the telephone rang within minutes of his arrival ("We've already _got_ double glazing!" Andromeda snapped before slamming the receiver back down).

Draco was exhausted, and when he nearly fell asleep at the kitchen table in the middle of the meal (later than they usually ate, Andromeda informed him), he was firmly ordered up to bed by his aunt. He was only too happy to obey. He was barely able to undress and was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

But his sleep was far from peaceful. Images of his mother, distressed and screaming, helpless at the hands of her eldest sister, in unbearable pain, tormented him. Bellatrix laughing cruelly, insanely, maniacally, unrelenting with her curses. Then she turned her wand on Draco and hit him as well. He couldn't keep back the screams of agony and desperate pleading with her to stop as she tortured him, his mother crying, barely able to move, calling his name over and over and over again…

"Draco. _Draco!_"

Abruptly he woke, panicked and terrified, heart racing, blood pounding in his ears, gasping for breath.

"Child, whatever's wrong?" asked Andromeda gently, her eyes and face revealing her worry. She was crouched beside the bed, having clearly just woken herself.

Draco drew back, curling up into a small ball in the far corner of the bed against the wall, still shaking violently from the nightmare.

"Draco? Did you have a bad dream? It's okay to admit it. You've had a difficult day and a nasty shock."

Draco raised his head, nodding briefly.

"Do you want to tell me about it? It might help."

Draco hesitated, then slowly unfolded himself. "It – it was…It was _her_," he whispered, trying to force back the tears as the horrific memories of the dream flashed through his mind. "She – she was using Cruciatus…First Mother, then – then me…" The urge to cry was overwhelming now, and he could no longer hold back the tears despite his best efforts.

Andromeda gently put her arms around him and drew him onto her lap, ignoring the fact that he was sixteen, instead holding him, rocking, soothing, comforting him as though he were a small child. Surprisingly, he let her do so.

Eventually he cried himself to sleep and Andromeda eased him back under the covers. She muttered a spell as she pointed her wand at a small object on the bedside table, which began glowing softly. She slipped out, leaving the door slightly ajar in case Draco should wake up again.

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He didn't. He slept through the rest of the night, and Andromeda decided against waking him in the morning. "Let him rest," she told Ted, who promptly went back to the _Prophet_, the front page of which bore the headline: _Ireland: European Quidditch Champions!_

A _pop_ sounded behind Andromeda, immediately followed by a crash and then someone swearing. Andromeda, without turning round, sighed resignedly. "_Do_ mind that vase, Nymphadora! I've lost count of how many times I've had to repair it. And besides, your cousin's still fast asleep upstairs."

"Sorry Mum," Nymphadora (who generally went by her surname only) mumbled apologetically.

"What do you want? If it's butter, I'm sorry, but you borrowed the last of it on Tuesday and I haven't been shopping yet."

"Actually, I dropped by to see how Draco was."

"Oh." Andromeda's expression changed, softening and saddening. "He's had an extremely nasty shock. It'll take some adjusting to – especially as the poor child's been uprooted from his home and been dragged halfway across the country to live with a relative he's only seen a handful of times, and hasn't seen since he was ten. He seems to have found an ally in the Longbottom kid; they were talking at the hospital yesterday when I found him."

Tonks tilted her head to one side and raised her eyebrow. "Has he? That's interesting," she mused. "Probably a good thing – for both of them."

"Indeed. Now go, before you're late for work and break anything else in this house."

Tonks rolled her eyes and tossed her hair (shoulder-length and electric blue in colour today) over her shoulders. "I get the message. I'm going, I'm going." And she Disapparated.

A few minutes later, Draco stumbled into the kitchen. "Morning, Aunt Andromeda," he said quietly. "Uncle Edward."

"You're up!" cried Ted. "Good morning to you too, young man. Do call me Ted, though – only your father calls me Edward. It's far too stiff and formal for me."

"Sorry, Uncle Ted."

"Do sit down, Draco," cut in Andromeda. "Toast? Cereal? Something cooked?"

"Just toast, please. I'm not very hungry," Draco replied quietly, embarrassed about the previous night. Malfoys did _not_, after all, cry. Certainly not like he had done. He sat down in an empty chair, head bowed, lost in his unhappy thoughts while his aunt made his toast. He couldn't get the images of the previous night's dream out of his head. He jumped when the toast was put in front of him.

"Are you okay?" 

"I'm fine," he answered dully. "It's just…Mother. Yesterday. And – and last night…"

"Perfectly understandable. Now, when are we going to Diagon Alley to get your books?"

"Tomorrow?"

"Fine. What do you need?"

"_Advanced Guide to Transfiguration, The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Six, Arithmancy for NEWT Level, Ancient Runes for the NEWT Student_ – and I need a new _Dictionary of Arithmancy_. Blaise lost hers in fourth year so she's been using mine because she's too lazy to get her own. Mine fell apart last week."

"Ah. Not a good thing. Now, what do you want to do today?"

Draco shrugged. "Dunno. Don't care."

"Then I'll show you around the area. How does that sound?"

"Fine." Draco picked up the now-buttered toast and nibbled a corner of it before putting it back on the plate. "I'm sorry. I'm not very hungry."

"Eat one slice at least. I'm not having you fainting on me just because you've got an empty stomach." Andromeda turned to her husband. "Well, Edward? Are you _ever_ going to work?"

"They don't want me in until eleven," replied Ted, taking his third slice of hot toast from the rack, which was charmed to keep the toast hot. "Do you want the paper, Draco? There's about fifteen pages on the European Quidditch Championships and not much else."

Draco took the paper from him, but didn't pay it much attention. He was still deep in his unhappy thoughts, and hadn't really been following the Championships – Blaise's parents didn't really care about Quidditch, and they had nothing but scorn for the _Daily Prophet_. The Zabinis were well-known for being fence-sitters in just about everything, and had a fairly even distribution of all four Hogwarts houses in their family. 

Eventually Draco finished his toast and stood up. "How does your shower work?" he asked.

"Come with me," instructed Andromeda. "It's a bit complicated."

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~TBC~


	4. Coping

A Common Bond

****

Disclaimer: not mine. Really. All I own is the Chamber of Secrets soundtrack on CD. And the LOTR soundtracks. And the PotC one. And assorted other things. So really, don't sue.

****

Thanks to: Lucidity, Lord Elrond of Hogwarts (two of my most loyal reviewers *hands our chocolate*), Samhaincat, SnapeAngst. Also Atana and Epiphanies for reviews of earlier chapters *beams*

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Chapter 4: Coping

It was five o'clock when Draco and Andromeda returned from their exploration of the town, and Draco was exhausted. Andromeda set various kitchen implements to begin preparing the evening meal and then she joined Draco in the living room. Just as she sat down and turned the TV on, the phone rang, and, grumbling, she got up again to answer it. "Hello?"

Draco did his best to pretend not to be curious (he had a reputation to uphold, after all), but he found himself paying close attention to the device.

"No, no; that's quite all right, dear. He's just here."

Andromeda beckoned to Draco and held out the receiver to him. "It's Neville."

Draco, surprised, took the receiver (having been instructed on telephone etiquette that morning by his aunt). "Hello? Longbottom?"

"It's me. You're doing a better job than Ron when it comes to telephones," Neville remarked jokingly.

"You really don't want me to reply to that," said Draco.

Neville laughed. "That's true. How are you?"

"Fine."

"How's your aunt's?"

"It's OK. I mean, it's nice, but it's not home."

"Very true. But it could be worse?"

"Easily. Bit too Mugglish for my liking – but I don't exactly have much control over that. It's pretty decent."

"What did you do today?"

"I got shown the town. The cinema thing looks intriguing."

"They're really cool," Neville assured him. "What are you doing tomorrow?"

"Going to Diagon Alley for schoolbooks. And – and going to the hospital." Draco bit his lip and willed back the rising tears. He _wasn't_ going to cry. Not _again_. And certainly not with Longbottom having that kind of information.

"Oh. I s'pose I might see you, then – I'm going tomorrow, too."

Draco nodded. "Maybe, yeah."

"Cool – oh, I've got to go. Gran says tea's ready." He raised his voice, though it seemed fainter (Draco guessed that he was covering the receiver with his hand). "Coming, Gran!"

"Okay. Look, Longbottom – thanks for calling. I mean it. It was…nice."

"'S OK. See you tomorrow maybe."

"Yeah. Bye."

"Bye."

Draco put the receiver back in place. "That was odd. How did he know the number?"

"I owled him. Just in case. Far more comfortable than using Floo, wouldn't you say?"

Draco nodded fervently. "Definitely. Maybe our lot should start using them – I mean, if you're using Floo, after a while it gets really painful."

Andromeda allowed herself a small smile, careful not to let Draco see. Amazing what living in an environment with Muggle things in could do for him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the end, Draco didn't meet Neville in Diagon Alley. He somehow managed to avoid all of the Weasleys (he knew that any taunts from Ron Weasley in particular would be unbearable), although he saw them from a distance. They, naturally, had Harry Potter and Hermione Granger with them. In the afternoon he went to St. Mungo's. His mother was unchanged, and the Healers told him very firmly that, after all the tests they had performed, there was absolutely no hope whatsoever of recovery. Narcissa Malfoy's mind had been completely, irreversibly, ruined.

For the remaining fortnight of the holidays, Draco went to see his mother daily. Sometimes she was asleep or sedated (he couldn't tell the difference), and other times she lay there, mumbling incoherently and waving her hands around. Draco was unable to talk to his aunt about the visits, simply because it was too painful for him to do so. He was quiet and withdrawn, and assisted his aunt with the household chores without complaint. Neville rang several times, but Draco said little, both unwilling and unable to express his thoughts and emotions.

And then September 1st came around. Andromeda took him to King's Cross and helped him put all his belongings on the school train. With the clock pointing to five minutes to eleven, she stood facing him. "I'm only an owl away if you need anything," she reminded him. "You look after yourself properly – ah! You're the Zabini girl, aren't you?"

Draco looked around to see whom his aunt was talking to. A petite girl with a mass of corkscrew-tight, dark brown curls, with numerous grips and hairbands inserted into them, and deep green eyes, turned around. "I am," she said with a tangible West Midlands accent. "I'm glad I don't have to sort my wretched brother out this year – he's a second-year now, so he's got all his Ravenclaw friends to sit with and therefore won't be bothering _me_. I hope, at any rate. You're Draco's aunt, aren't you?"

Andromeda nodded. "I am. Make sure Draco looks after himself, please," she requested. She knew that Draco had told Blaise of the situation.

"I will."

"Good." Andromeda pulled Draco into a tight hug, which he hesitantly returned, unused to such open affection. When she released him, she gave him a gentle push towards the train. "I'll owl you about the Christmas holidays. Work hard and have a good term."

"Bye," said Draco as Blaise hauled him onto the train. When it pulled out of King's Cross, for the first time in his life he found himself waving good bye to someone – someone who returned the gesture.

When the train rounded a corner, Blaise led him off to find an empty compartment, all the while talking about her plans to oust Pansy Parkinson as the female prefect for their year in Slytherin and to (naturally) take her place. "…It basically involves framing her for something really horrendous, all the while myself being a model student," she was saying. She paused. "Is it just me, or was that really bad grammar?" 

Blaise had ambitions of becoming Head Girl, and had been _most_ annoyed when Pansy had been selected over her for Prefect. Her middle name was ambition – Ehrgeiz, the German translation of 'ambition' – and it was why she had been placed in Slytherin (although the Sorting Hat had seriously considered Ravenclaw, where her brother was).

"Probably," agreed Draco – because it was always best to simply agree with Blaise when she was in this sort of mood. "Oh, this compartment looks empty." He opened the door, and then spotted Neville, along with sixth-year Hufflepuff Prefect Ernie Macmillan. He acknowledged them both with a nod.

"Malfoy," Neville returned.

"Can we join you?"

"Go ahead."

"Thanks."

Ernie stared in shock for a moment (Draco couldn't really blame him), then got to his feet. "I'm going to find Justin." He hurriedly exited.

"_Honestly_. I didn't think my outfit was _that_ bad!" Blaise said huffily.

Draco arched one elegant eyebrow sceptically. Quite frankly, he wouldn't have been at all surprised if his best friend's outfit of a bright yellow short-sleeved top and lurid short hot-pink skirt with green polka dots _had_ scared off the Hufflepuff. It didn't take much to scare them, in his experience.

"_What?_" Blaise demanded. She looked from Draco to Neville and then back again, glaring at both of them (their expressions, consisting of disbelieving smirks, were identical).

Draco attempted to look innocent. "Nothing, Blaise. Nothing."

"Liar! And don't you try to look innocent either, Longbottom!"

"I – but – I –"

"If you wore _normal_ things, Zabini," began Draco in his old drawl, "Perhaps people wouldn't feel the need to run away from you as fast as they possibly could."

Neville winced.

"Why you –!" Blaise pushed Draco to the floor of the compartment and hit him with one of her trademark powerful Tickling Charms. When Neville began laughing at Draco's helpless predicament, he immediately wished he hadn't, as Blaise turned her wand on him. She stood there, hands on hips, a distinctly satisfied expression on her face.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"That was some Tickling Charm," Neville remarked some time later, when the spell had been removed from the boys and they had both sufficiently recovered.

"She doesn't just do Tickling Charms strongly," Draco informed him knowledgeably. "You should see the hexes she throws at Pansy Parkinson when she irritates her."

"I – er – I'd rather not."

"Wise move," Blaise told him. "Still, it could be worse. You could _be _Pansy."

"Very true."

"Which is a fate worse than death, if you ask me – oh, hello, Weasley. What can we do for you?"

Ron Weasley stood in the compartment doorway, an unpleasant smirk on his face. "So, Malfoy. How's your precious mother now?"

Draco went white. "W-what do you mean?"

"Oh, I think you know _exactly _what I mean. _I _heard she's gone round the twist. Nice family you've got."

"Leave it, Ron."

The others looked round at Neville, who was nearly as white as Draco, though with anger rather than shock or fear. "Get out, Ron. It's not his fault his aunt's a nutter. It's not like she's never done such a thing before."

"Why are you defending _Malfoy, _of all people?" demanded Ron furiously, his face almost as red as his hair.

Neville got to his feet, seeming suddenly taller than normal. Anger radiated from him in waves. "Because, Ron, whenever you mock what Narcissa Malfoy has become, you also mock _my _parents, who suffered exactly the same fate at the hands of exactly the same person, that Narcissa did!" his voice rang through the air as the volume of it rose. "If I find out you've been mocking her again, you'll be _very _sorry indeed."

"Trust him," Blaise added coldly, assuming a threatening stance, wand raised.

"Now _get out_, before I hex you into the middle of next week!" He pointed his wand menacingly at Ron, who backed away, then turned and fled back down the train. Neville put his wand away and sat back down again, satisfied. "He won't give us any more hassle."

Draco stared at him in shock. "Why did you do that? You'll turn the whole of Gryffindor against you for defending a Slytherin – particularly a Malfoy!"

"Because Ron's an absolute idiot sometimes and he had no right to say those things. Besides," he added, smiling awkwardly, "that's what friends are for."

Draco looked away, though he was clearly touched. "Thanks," he mumbled.

"No problem."

"You know," Blaise remarked, "I reckon you're pretty cool, Longbottom – for a Gryffindor. Are we cool?"

Neville shrugged, but he was smiling. "I think so."

"Good. You just have to assist in The Downfall of Pansy Parkinson…"

Laughter echoed down the train from their compartment as an unlikely friendship was sealed.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

****

The End


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